


The Coldest Winter, the Warmest Spring

by heyitsamorette (AmoretteHD)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Forced Crossdressing, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Servant, Slavery, Spanking, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, french maid uniform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/pseuds/heyitsamorette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this Voldemort Wins AU, Harry is given to Lucius as a personal slave. Unsurprisingly, Lucius doesn’t treat his slaves well. He has taken it as a challenge to break the unbreakable Chosen One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Contact me on tumblr: [@heyitsamorette](https://heyitsamorette.tumblr.com/)

“Come here, Potter.”

“No.”

“Oh, come now. It’s only a few paces.” His voice was soft, and barely reached Harry from where Lucius lounged in his armchair by the windows. His arms rested effortlessly on the armrests. “You won’t have to crawl far,” Lucius breathed. 

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry breathed.

Lucius’ lips twitched at the corners and then formed a small smile. “You’re not going to come?” he asked, his voice singing with amusement. 

“No.”

“Do you want me to make you?”

“You’re going to have to try.”

Harry felt his own heart beating hard in those seconds of silence. 

“Very well then.”

Lucius cast a spell, and suddenly the carpet under Harry seemed to be made of burning hot coals. Harry yelped at the first searing contact with his palms and knees. He jumped, trying to get on his feet, forgetting the consequence of that particular action. 

“Uh-uh.” Lucius sent a hex straight at his gut, and Harry doubled over once more onto the scorching carpet. 

He fell on his side, which promptly stung with heat from his thighs all the way up his hips and arms to his shoulder. He had no choice but to get back into his hands and knees, thankful at least that his naked cock hadn’t touched the floor. It was all he could do not to stand up again, but he had already taken a handful of hexes that nearly knocked him right out, and he was surprised he could still see straight. Not that he could see _well_ anyways without his glasses. 

He tried to ignore Lucius’s low, rumbling laughter as he bounced from one knee to the other, from one palm to the other, to avoid being burned, doing a ridiculous, humiliating dance. A droplet of moisture ran to the tip of his nose, and he realized he was sweating. He swore loudly as his toes burned, and then he crawled to another spot, finding no relief. Except for when he got closer to Lucius. 

The carpet was hot nearer Lucius’ chair, but not burning, so Harry crouched there, his mind unable to form coherent thoughts other than _stop this pain_ and _I will kill you one day, Malfoy_. He bowed his head and inhaled deeply. The muscles in his arms shook with each breath and his limbs threatened to collapse underneath him. 

“You see how easily I can control you?” Lucius stated. “There’s no use in fighting me.” The scary thing was that Harry knew it was true. He didn’t doubt Lucius could make him do anything. But no matter what he did to him, he couldn’t make Harry _want_ to do any of it, and Harry knew Lucius hated that more than anything. He wanted Harry to break. To willingly comply. He was starting to find ways around the Imperius, which didn’t work well on Harry. What worried Harry was that Lucius actually enjoyed their little games. He was having fun with him. 

“Ow.” Harry jumped when the carpet burned again. 

“Feeling a bit hot, pet?”

He clenched his jaw as he resumed the tentative bouncing, from one knee and hand to the other. “Don’t call me that,” he gritted out.

“I will call you whatever I please, as you are mine now, and you’ll soon come to understand that.”

“Never! I don’t care what games you play, I’ll never give in to you.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes and lifted his wand, pointing it at Harry’s knees. “Come closer.”

The burning turned scalding, until Harry was howling and tears slipped down his cheeks. He crawled closer, unable to resist the relief of the cool carpet right under Lucius’s feet. 

He knelt there curled into himself, trying to hide from the man who lounged above him. Lucius’s chuckle grated in his ears, but Harry tried to ignore it and focus only on his aching body. His hands were red, and he didn’t even want to look at his knees and legs. 

He felt a hand stroke over his hair, and he jumped. He raised his head to see Lucius looking down at him with the self-satisfied expression of a man who was seemingly victorious. He continue to stroke Harry’s hair like one would pet an animal at his feet.

“Don’t touch me,” Harry spat, slapping Lucius’s outstretched hand out of the way. 

A moment later, Lucius’s hand came back full force, slapping him across the cheek hard enough to send him staggering. Harry leaned on his elbow, clenching his other hand against the sting in his face. His whole skull seemed to buzz, and his nose burned. 

“Don’t get your filthy blood on the carpet,” Lucius said evenly, using a white handkerchief to rub his long fingers. 

Harry gingerly reached up to his cheek, and winced when he touched the wound. One of Lucius’s rings had scratched through his skin. Nevertheless, more scars were the least of his worries.

“If you don’t want me to bleed,” Harry said, his bottom lip trembling with anger and pain, “then don’t hit me.”

Lucius moved before Harry even saw him react. He leaned over and grabbed Harry’s face in a firm, painful grip, his thumb and fingers digging into Harry’s cheeks. He forced Harry to look at him. 

“I will sew your mouth shut, boy, do you understand?”

Harry tried jerking his head away, but Lucius gripped him by the hair with his other hand and held him steady. Harry’s eyes stung, and he blinked furiously, angry at himself for the tears that threatened to form. 

“Really,” Lucius continued, each word infuriating Harry more, “I don’t think you do understand. Think about it for a moment, and really try to imagine what I’m saying to you, Potter. I will take a needle and string and sew your mouth shut if you don’t shut it yourself. Am I perfectly _clear_?” His face was beginning to turn red.

Harry shut his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He felt like he was going to throw up. 

Lucius thrust him down by the hair so that Harry had to put out his hand. The imprint of Lucius’ palm remained as a dull ache in his cheeks. 

Harry tried to keep his breathing steady and continued to look at the carpet. Lucius’s leather boots were in his face. He wondered how much further Lucius would push him until he actually opened his mouth and licked those wretched…

“I think I want you cleaned up now,” Lucius said, his composure restored. He reached down again and pushed his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry flicked his head away, but Lucius tightened his grip and pulled until Harry’s scalp burned and he stayed still. It made him sick letting Lucius run his hands through his hair, like Harry was some loved pet. “I rather like your thick hair, Potter. Even if that’s the only thing I can truly say I find aesthetically pleasing about you. Although… you’re growing on me.” His voice had taken a guttural pitch.

Harry scowled, and shivered.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry sifted through the velvety robes hanging in the closet—khaki gold, royal blue, emerald green, all decorated in some elaborate pattern or other—and tried to figure out which one to pull out. Lucius’ robes embodied everything ornate and over the top, screaming wealth and plenty. They were so different to Draco’s robes, which made a statement in their simplicity and favored pastel colors for his lighter complexion. Harry much prefered Draco’s wardrobe, still elegant and obviously well made but markedly understated. Not that Draco wore anything other than black. His was easier to pick out. 

Harry pulled out a piece at random, wanting to get on with it, and laid the robes neatly across Lucius’ dressing table. They were crushed velvet of the deepest purple, almost black. It reminded Harry of a bruise. More specifically, the bruise on his right temple from the latest thwack of the cane. It was that damn silver handle that did the worst tricks. 

He had already laid out the undergarments, the stockings, the shoes, and whatever else Lucius needed to dress for the day. It was all ready for him once he got out of the bath. 

“Pet,” came a drawl from the other room. 

Harry scowled at the bathroom door. Steeling both his jaw and his nerves, he went to check on Lucius. He always called Harry when he was finished with his bath. 

Harry picked up the fluffy towel folded on the vanity and held it out, turning his head away. He had no desire to see Lucius’ naked body, if he could help it. He heard the water slosh around as Lucius stood up in the porcelain tub. Harry stared at the tub’s feet; golden, coiled snakes with bared fangs. 

Lucius stepped out with his back to Harry, dripping onto the marble floor. Harry forced his mind to be numb as he began his work, toweling him off starting at the shoulders. 

“Draco should be almost finished now as well,” Lucius said. 

Harry pressed his lips together as he rubbed at Lucius’ back. 

Lucius turned his head. “Did you hear me, pet?” he snapped. 

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled tightly, every word like a punch in the gut. He lightly ran the towel over Lucius’ arse, trying not to touch him even through the thick fabric, and quickly knelt down to continue on to his legs. Harry’s bare knees got wet in the puddle around Lucius’ body. At least Harry was now allowed pants, unlike during the earlier weeks… if one considered a tight black thong anything close to proper pants. 

Lucius abruptly turned, and Harry was faced with his half hard cock. It dangled thick and red in front of him, and Harry turned his head away. 

Lucius’ voice became a dangerous whisper. “You know, one day I will have you begging for my cock. That’s how well-trained you’ll be.”

Harry’s response was tickling his lips, burning to come out: _‘I seriously doubt that.’_ Perhaps it was a testament to how successful Lucius’ training already was that Harry held his tongue. He knew it was pointless to bait Lucius, it did not help Harry’s case at all. At first Harry felt like he was getting one over on him, but that got old quickly. Especially when every time he “mouthed off” he faced all kinds of pain and punishments. And what did he gain? Nothing. 

But Harry would never beg for Lucius’ cock; of that he was sure. He would rather be tortured to death than let that vile man break him of his pride. He contained a shiver even as he imagined it, because he knew the kind of torture Lucius was ready and willing to put him through. 

“Nevermind,” Lucius continued, “that time will come soon enough.” Then he snapped his fingers repeatedly, the sound sharp and aggressive, in Harry’s face. “Keep going! I’m beginning to feel a chill.”

Harry exhaled through his nose but kept a straight face as he rose to towel off Lucius’ stomach and then his chest. When he was finished, he tossed the towel into the laundry basket that the house elves took care of and went to the hook where Lucius’ silk bath robe hung. He returned to find Lucius had already turned and spread his arms to receive it. 

“Draco has no complaints about you so far, which surprises me. It makes me wonder if he’s being soft with you.”

“He’s not.” 

“He’d better not be.”

Harry tied the robe at Lucius’ waist. 

“Go to him,” Lucius said, sounding bored again. “I will dress myself.”

Without a word, and frankly relieved, Harry turned to stomp out of the bathroom. 

“Are you forgetting something?” 

Harry stopped, tensed his shoulders, and turned around. He gave the teeniest, most imperceptible bow he felt he could get away with, and then forced himself to repeat the words, “Yes, sir.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. He was obviously less than impressed, but he seemed to be letting Harry off easy this morning. Harry turned again and all but ran from the room. Lucius’ presence was so stifling that whenever he left him, Harry felt he could breathe again. 

He would never have imagined, not in a million years, that one day he’d feel relieved having to go see Draco Malfoy. But the truth was, Draco was not nearly as bad as his father. In fact, Draco hardly wanted to look at him, and that suited Harry just fine. If anything, he relished Draco’s embarrassment at the whole situation. The only thing that gave Harry any satisfaction these days—in a vindictive sort of way that brought a rare twisty smile to his lips—was making Draco as miserable as he was.

Draco was standing by his bed, already dressed and fiddling with the buttons on his cuffs. It was not what Harry had picked out; Harry’s pick still laid, ignored, on the bed. His blond hair was damp from the bath and freshly combed. 

Sensing him come in, Draco shot him a cursory look, blushed, and then turned away and continued playing with his buttons. He always blushed when he saw Harry, which wasn’t surprising considering Harry was naked all of the time. 

“I’m supposed to do that for you,” Harry said. 

“Yes, well, I can do it myself.”

“Clearly not.”

Draco whirled around. “Don’t talk back to me, Potter. You know what that gets you.”

“The same thing will happen to me if I don’t dress you.” If Lucius found out, that was. Harry had a feeling Draco wouldn’t tell him anyway. Still, if it annoyed Draco, it was almost fun. 

Draco’s frown deepened as he paused and stared at Harry. It seemed Harry’s words clicked into place somewhere in his brain, because finally he rolled his eyes and held out his arm. 

Harry stepped forward to take it. These robes had two rows of tiny buttons along the wrist, a very formal style that Draco favoured. Slowly, Harry began to push them through their tiny holes. 

He wanted to ask Draco why he cared whether or not Harry got punished. Instead, he kept working and just ruminated on his own, almost enjoying the comfortable silence that fell over them. There were even birds chirping outside the open window, unaware of anything going on inside; the world continued to move in its natural pace no matter what. It was a strangely comforting thought even as it was equally depressing. 

Draco could never stand torture, that was something Harry knew. He likely couldn’t give a fuck what happened to Harry as long as he didn’t have to see it. Lucius would occasionally bully Draco into bossing Harry around, but Draco was never enthusiastic about it. Surprising though that was, Harry wasn’t going to complain. 

Though it did make him angry. Anger curled around his guts the more cowardly Draco was, unwilling to look, unwilling to see. He didn’t take part not because he cared about Harry, but because he couldn’t face it. It made Harry sick with rage sometimes. 

“Ow, Potter, christ!” Draco pulled his arm away. Harry hadn’t realized he had nicked him pretty hard with his nail, leaving a mean pink line across his wrist. 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, and pulled his arm back. Draco allowed it, resigning himself to more of Harry’s help. Harry quickly finished that arm and moved on to the other one. 

When he was finished, he looked for Draco’s boots but then he remembered that he had forgotten to take them out earlier. He went to the closet and bent over to choose a pair; Draco liked to wear the dragon skin ones, so Harry chose another. He liked to piss him off. 

When he looked up again, it was to find Draco staring at him with an intense look in his eyes, his face both pale and red in places like it couldn’t settle upon one color. Seeing Harry had spotted him, his eyelashes fluttered as he rushed to look away. 

Oh, right. Harry had just bent over. An image of himself in his lack of clothes flashed before his eyes, and he felt his own cheeks flush. 

“Those are the wrong ones,” Draco gritted out, his teeth clenched. His hand was working at his side, making a fist and then relaxing. 

“Right,” Harry replied faintly, realizing he had only hurt himself with that trick. Now he had to bend over again to get the correct boots, when he could have just gotten them the first time instead of playing games. 

His heart pounding in his chest and his skin sizzling hot with embarrassment, he bent over again. He had never before been so aware of his own body. He had never before had to expose his bare arse like this. He didn’t even want to imagine the sight he made to Draco, who was probably revolted. Harry’s nakedness seemed to turn Lucius on—as well as served to remind Harry of “his place”—but Draco obviously thought it was disgusting. 

And did Harry even want Draco to be turned on? Absolutely not! He was glad Draco was disgusted, it was the proper reaction to seeing his former schoolmate on display like this. 

Harry quickly straightened up after picking up the dragonskin boots and didn’t look up at Draco again, he just walked over to him and knelt down, holding one of the boots. Draco shoved his feet into the first one, then the other, and the whole thing was over in less than two minutes. 

“There. You’ve dressed me,” Draco said. “Now you can go.”

“It’s time for dinner anyway. I should be getting to the dining room.”

Draco nodded stiffly.


	3. Chapter 3

“My wife is dining with an acquaintance, so it will be just the two of us tonight.” Lucius smiled broadly, showing his long white teeth. That was not the best news. At least whenever Narcissa was around, Lucius behaved himself a bit better; though not by much. It was probably for her sake, to spare her any second-hand humiliation. Harry did not miss her small flinches and rigid frowns, signs that betrayed her discomfort. She couldn’t say anything, could not do much to spare him any ill treatment, but her presence did act as a sort of buffer between Lucius and his more sadistic tendencies. 

However, since tonight was going to be just Lucius and Draco there would likely be no holds barred. Harry’s heart raced a little, even ashamed as he was to admit any sort of fear. But as much as Lucius was tempered around Narcissa, that much more vicious he was around Draco. It was like he craved for Draco to see the abuse. He wanted his son to partake in the most perverse of it. 

Harry knew why. Even a blind man could see that Lucius considered Draco soft. Lucius knew his son shied away from violence, and Harry was sure that fact simply tortured him. No doubt it caused Lucius some measure of shame. For all intents and purposes as a Death Eater, Draco was a disappointment. 

Lucius and Draco sat together at the long dining table. They always dined in the formal dining room. The room was imposing, the ceiling high and arched and the chairs tall and straight. It was perpetually dark no matter how many sconces glimmered along the walls. 

Harry picked up the first platter from where it materialized on the side table used for serving. The house elves cooked everything, thank god, because if Harry had been made to cook on top of it all, he would be whipped every night. He was not exactly the best cook. However, sometimes he daydreamed about it, primarily about getting the opportunity to poison Lucius’ soup. Or at the very least spit in it.

Tonight’s first course was a small bowl of some kind of stew with winter vegetables. It smell warm and delicious. Harry served Lucius first, as usual, placing the steaming bowl before him. He felt Lucius’ eyes on him, though it no longer phased him. He was used to being naked in front of Lucius. 

However, he couldn’t seem to get over being naked in front of Draco. Even in the thong. The sharp sting of embarrassment still lingered. It was somehow worse that Draco never looked at him. So unlike Lucius, whose gaze was voracious, like a snake itching to pounce. Draco, on the other hand, seemed physically in pain whenever Harry came near. 

He looked Draco right in the face as he placed the bowl of soup in front of him. Draco stared somewhere off to the side with a scowl that seemed permanently plastered to his face these days. Harry noticed his fists clenched at his sides. 

_Look at me_. Harry thought. _You coward, look at me. Face this._

But Draco never did. 

Lucius definitely noticed. “Doesn’t our pet look a little plain tonight, Draco?”

“He looks the same as he always looks,” Draco snapped. 

“Oh? How do you mean?” Lucius held out his goblet wordlessly, and Harry knew that was the signal to refill his wine. He grabbed the pitcher from the side table and poured him more. 

“Hes’—he’s just—” Draco’s eyes flickered to Harry for only a moment and his cheeks immediately coloured. “Naked,” he muttered through clenched teeth. A new rush of heat swelled up inside Harry, his limbs tingling with the urge to shrink away. He distracted himself by going to set the wine pitcher back in its place.

Lucius smirked. “Yes, and I’m getting bored of looking at him. Not that he doesn’t have a rather lovely arse. Don’t you think?” 

Draco’s lips became a thin line. He stared at his napkin like he wanted to set it aflame with his mind. 

Twirling his wand as he looked up and down Harry’s body, Lucius said, “I think we can come up with something more dinner-appropriate.” He pointed his wand at the black thong Harry wore. 

The fabric became liquid-like and reformed itself, growing larger and spreading over his body like an amorphous blob, before settling into its final shape. Harry looked down at himself aghast, his jaw dropping upon seeing his new garb. His cheeks burned with rage and humiliation. Even though the thong had shown exorbitantly more skin, it had somehow been better than _this_. He felt worse than naked. 

Draco’s eyes widened as he looked at him, his face a picture of the horror that Harry felt. 

The thong had turned into a tiny black and white maid’s uniform. Actually tiny was too generous; the outfit was miniscule. Tight black fabric cling to his torso, the neckline round and low enough to frame his collarbone and a good amount of his chest. The lace trim stopped just below his nipples, drawing attention to them and tickling them uncomfortably; Harry never realized how sensitive they were until that moment. There were small puffy sleeves that covered his shoulders, trimmed with more lace. And the skirt—the fucking skirt was barely even worthy of the name. Besides being a frilly monstrosity, it came down to just cover his arse. Just barely. He stood straight and still, since every move, every wriggle, sent the skirt riding up and exposing not only the bottoms of his arse cheeks but his bits in front as well. To top it off, there was a little white apron sewn into the front of the dress. 

Harry put his hands in front of his groin to keep it covered. 

“No need to be shy, pet,” Lucius said. “Come over here where we can get a better look at you.”

Harry hesitated, but his new instincts told him hesitating wasn’t allowed. And then pure, hot rage rushed in and consumed him. How dare Lucius Malfoy do this to him? How dare he instill his rules and his lessons and—he wanted to throw up whenever Lucius used the word— _training_. The thing that angered Harry the most was that his fucking training was working. Little by little, Harry’s impulses were reshaped and moulded into the behavior Lucius desired from him: when Lucius commands it, Harry comes without hesitation. His body was already responding of its own accord, sending him signals to obey. 

“Come.” Lucius pointed down at the ground by his feet.

He knew pain would follow, but Harry remained resolutely still. He couldn’t let Lucius succeed in turning him into his little pet.

“ _Now_.”

“Make me,” he spat. 

Draco let out a heaving sigh. “Just listen to him, Potter. Why are you making this even more difficult than it has to be?”

“Because I’m no one's fucking pet!”

“I thought we broke you of this, Harry,” Lucius said evenly, though a hint of frustration laced his tone. “Don’t you remember what happens when you disobey or talk back?”

“You will never break me.” His whole body was trembling with the effort to hold in his sense of rage. 

“I have to admit, I’m growing rather tired of this game,” Lucius frowned, no longer amused. His voice was low. “Come here or you will sorely regret it.”

“What are you going to do? Whip me? I don’t care.” Saying that last part made him actually lightheaded, because the memory of his last whipping surfaced sharply. Lucius had told him to thank him for the whipping before he’d stop, but Harry had never thanked him. He’d bitten his tongue until it bled. He’d screamed so hard he lost his voice. The blows kept coming, just as Lucius had promised, until eventually Harry had passed out. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Lucius replied. It seemed he remembered the whipping too, and he hadn’t been satisfied with its results. “I’ll force you to orally pleasure me right here, while Draco watches. We can show him what you learned during our… practice sessions.” 

Harry’s heart skipped and he felt another wave of lightheadedness. The idea was abhorrent. The thought of Draco watching…

“He’s gotten rather good at it,” Lucius said to Draco. “Just a little more practice and we’ll make a regular cocksucker out of him.”

“Father, please,” Draco hissed.

Lucius’ eyes darkened. “You think he’s better than that?”

“I… No, I—”

“Don’t tell me you have a soft spot for your old schoolmate.”

“No! I don’t give a fuck about him. I just—”

“Then don’t ever contradict me again.”

Draco fell silent. His jaw twitched as he stared at the bowl of soup in front of him, fist clenching on the table. 

“And you,” Lucius said, turning to Harry. “Come over here or I will break your legs.”

Harry wanted to be sick. He slowly trotted over, every step making his skirt sway and ride up. He walked with his hands in front of him to keep his cock from being exposed. When he reached Lucius, he stared him right in the eye and glared at him with as much venom as he could muster. He needed to hold on to any small bit of defiance, if only to feel like he still had his dignity left.

Lucius didn’t seem bothered by his death glare, or he ignored it, and his eyes roamed instead over the length of Harry’s body. It made Harry’s leg twitch. 

“I must say,” Lucius said, his voice regaining its usual touch of silk, “the garment suits you well. It presents a very pretty picture.” His long fingers brushed over Harry’s exposed nipple, which had peaked from the constant tickle of the lace. Harry flinched and drew a sharp intake of breath. They had become hyper sensitive, and the touch, as unwelcome as it was, sent a zing through his body. “I will enjoy watching you serve us in this. My pet.” He grabbed Harry’s leg at those last words and Harry shifted on his feet. But Lucius dug his nails painfully into the back of Harry’s thigh, making him wince and not allowing him to move away. 

It took everything Harry had not to move. He stared intently at the table and forced his mind to be blank. A feat which grew increasingly more difficult as Lucius began to slide his hand down the length of his thigh, resting at the back of his knee. 

“Perhaps tomorrow night, some stockings.”

A pop from behind him indicated the main course had appeared, and Harry inwardly rejoiced at being able to get away from Lucius, if only momentarily. Lucius let him go, and he quickly turned and marched to the serving table to take the tray. The air shifted coolly against his exposed skin, and he realized the bottom of his arse was being exposed at this pace. Even though he had begun the evening in a thong, the nature of this outfit made him feel even more naked than before. The uniform made him feel dirty in a way the thong had not, how it highlighted his nipples and arse so pointedly. 

The worst of it came after Harry had picked up the tray and turned around. Only then did he realized he couldn’t cover himself up in front, his hands being occupied carrying the heavy silver tray, and he could do nothing but hold his head high and ignore the burning in his face. The skirt flounced to and fro, exposing his bits with every step. 

He felt Lucius’ stare cut through him as he neared and set his plate down first. Roasted pheasant with creamed spinach and fingerling potatoes. Harry picked up Lucius’ bowl of stew, of which he had only taken a few slurpy spoonfuls. 

He rushed around to Draco, putting down his plate next. Draco hadn’t even touched his; the spoon sat undisturbed in its place setting. Was tonight going to be one of those nights he didn’t eat? Harry often watched Draco during dinner—not only was it amusing because it got on Draco’s nerves, but it did seem to be an embarrassing sort of familiar comfort. Harry couldn’t deny that he was used to watching Draco, and any sense of the familiar in this hellish situation was hard to give up. 

When his mother was around, Draco ate a few bites here, a few bites there, but he hardly ever finished his food even on those evenings. He was careful, quiet, no clanking of silverware when he cut his meat and no audible sounds when he drank his wine. Harry often wondered where he’d learned it. Draco had never been like this, at least not for as long as Harry remembered him. Perhaps having to dine with Voldemort at his table had taught him to avoid drawing attention to himself in any way. The careless, loud, boisterous boy from Hogwarts was gone. 

“What are you looking at?” Draco snapped. Well… maybe not all gone. 

Harry realized he was lingering longer than normal at Draco’s side. Feeling a bit disoriented, he darted back to the serving table, hoping he’d be left alone for a while as Lucius busied himself with consuming his dinner. After setting the tray down, he assumed the position of standing by, back straight and head up, waiting silently while they ate. 

The light of the sconces seemed to strain through the vastness of the room, but it still managed to reach far enough to highlight the profile of Draco’s face. He had such pale skin. Such a straight nose. A defined jaw that slanted elegantly down to his chin. Harry often noted the differences between Lucius and Draco’s appearance now that he was around both of them nearly all the time. When they had been at school, Harry had thought Draco a spitting image of Lucius; they’d practically twins to him. They had both been pointy, slimy, blond gits, one no better than the other. But now Harry knew better. It would be impossible to deny the beauty in Draco’s pointedness when compared to his father’s. Lucius had a harsh face, skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and hard angles. Draco, on the other hand, had an almost delicate quality about him. Even his scowls had changed for Harry, once he had seen how ugly Lucius’ could be; Draco’s anger registered like a symphony across his face. His mouth and his eyes were the most expressive Harry had ever seen. 

As Harry watched, Draco cut into the pheasant with measured strokes, moving the food around his plate but never raising it to his lips. 

He also noticed the goblet that Lucius raised expectantly. Containing his long-suffering sigh, Harry picked up the pitcher to go refill his drink. Somehow as he was walking over, he seemed to lose the ability to walk, stumbling in a loss of balance. Before he knew it, he came face-first with the floor, shouting in pain at the impact. A veil of horror settled over him upon seeing the wine spilled all over the floor, running in streams from the pitcher and forming a thick puddle near Lucius’ feet. In the dimness, it looked like blood. 

His skirt had flown up in his fall and exposed his entire arse. He hurried to stand up, ignoring the lingering dizziness and the throbbing in his nose, and patted the skirt down to make sure it covered everything again. 

Lucius’ face split with sharp, ringing laughter. “Stupid, stupid boy. Look what you’ve done! You are never this clumsy, what is wrong with you?”

Harry opened his mouth, but no explanation came out. Frankly, he didn’t know either. 

“Nevertheless, your idiocy will cost you.”

Of course. And Harry thought he’d be getting away without a punishment tonight. He seemed to be unable to avoid it, even when he tried to be—he shuddered to think it—good. 

“Does this mean dinner’s over?” Draco drawled as if he’d never been more bored, though his sense haste was clear. “Am I free to go?”

“Not quite.” Lucius didn’t spare him any gentleness either. “It’s about time you took a more active role in the training.” Draco’s shoulders immediately tensed up. “I’m growing tired, Draco. You’re a man now and you must learn to act like it.”

“Yes well I thought men were allowed to choose their own bedtimes.” Draco rose from his seat and tossed his napkin down. “Goodnight.”

“You act like a child!” Lucius slammed his fist on the table, startling them both. Harry had not expected such outrage, and Draco was certainly caught off guard and drained of his cockiness. “You will punish him. Right here, right now. I want to see it.” Lucius grabbed Harry by the hair and yanked him forward. “Go to him!”

Harry stumbled over, thankfully keeping his footing this time, until he stood next to Draco. 

“Wh—what do you expect me to do?” Draco countered angrily, holding out his hands. 

“Pet,” Lucius said.

Harry swallowed and, partly because he knew it would somehow be worse for Draco to piss Lucius off even more, he said, “Yes, sir?”

“Lean over the table. You will receive a sound beating for your incompetence.” Lucius stood over them both, his long shadow washing over them.

Harry inhaled through his nose, steeling himself for it, and slowly placed both his palms on the cold, polished surface of the dining table. This was worse for Draco than it was for him, he repeated in his head. He could feel the disdain permeating from him. Closing his eyes, Harry leaned down, pressing his chest to the tabletop. His nipples tightened from the momentary sense of cold. The frills in the skirt scratched his skin as it rose up high. He had exposed his arse in front of Draco before, but now Draco could see the back of his balls—hairless, like Lucius liked him. 

And he was going to touch him. Something he had never done. Lucius was right in that Draco avoided it at all cost. But he was going to have to touch Harry now. 

“Go on, lift it,” Lucius said somewhat impatiently. 

The initial feel of Draco’s fingers on his arse made his stomach twist. Harry turned his face away from Lucius and pressed his cheek to the table, biting his lip to keep himself from wriggling. Draco’s touch made him squirmish. As he pushed the skirt completely off Harry’s arse and bunched it at the small of his back, his fingers burned over Harry like frissons of heat. 

“You will count,” Draco said, and Harry realized he was addressing him.

“Er, yes.”

“That’s not how you address me.”

It was painful enough with Lucius, but having to call Draco ‘sir’ was another thing altogether. It got him somewhere deep. 

Harry clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to grit it out. _“Yessir.”_

“Good.” 

The blow came much too soon.

Harry bit his lip. “One.”

The second one was much harder.

“Oomph… Two.”

Draco slapped him on one side and then the next, getting progressively harder. It was like once he started, he couldn’t stop. He rained his beating down on Harry until Harry lost count. It was somewhere around number twenty-one when his brain and his mouth stopped connecting, and he couldn’t even think straight let alone keep count. All he could think about was how much it hurt; the only sounds he could emit were tortured groans. 

Draco was possessed. He seemed not to hear Harry’s cries as he kept up his frenzied pace. Harry tried desperately to hold it in, using the last scrap of willpower to avoid it, but he couldn’t help it at last: he screamed. 

The blows stopped suddenly. 

Harry realized his face was wet. His arse was _burning_. Behind him, Draco attempted to regain his breath. 

“There, I’ve done it.” Draco was winded but still managed to sound snippy. “Am I excused?” This time, he didn’t wait for Lucius to give his consent. He stormed out of the room, leaving it oddly empty in his wake.


End file.
